Circus Mirandus

by Cassie Beasley

  She was a well-educated girl, and she knew such a thing shouldn’t be possible.

  All of this, from the very beginning, had been a horrible dream. The thought filled Victoria with determination. If she could pinch herself hard enough, she would wake up safely on the ground, at home in her beautiful fur-covered bed, and everything would be back to normal.

  She pinched the inside of her elbow until her skin bruised. Victoria stared at the bruise, and the longer she stared the more furious she became. How could her parents have put her in this situation? How could they have died in such a horrible, ridiculous way?

  Selfishness. That was the answer. Her father had wanted to be a missionary, of all things, when his daughter was clearly made for something greater. And her mother hadn’t protected her from the madness. They had failed to recognize how special she was.

  Look at me now, she thought. I’m not falling to the dirt like some pathetic regular person. I am remarkable. How dare they refuse to see it?

  She wanted to scream. Her parents had gotten it all wrong. The only way to prove how unforgivably wrong they had been about everything was for Victoria to do it all the correct way. She would be rich. She would be famous. She would be powerful.

  She pointed her face toward the south and started to fly.

  Over the course of the next few months, Victoria Starling wandered in search of fame and glory.

  At some point, she discovered a gift for singing. All manner of birds flocked to her, mesmerized by her voice, and she kept a collection of her favorites as pets. Though her talents were substantial, she soon realized that opportunities to show them off were not. County fairs and traveling sideshows provided her with just enough food and shelter, but they weren’t what she’d had in mind when she set out. And it was difficult to find money for things like soap, never mind fur coats.

  Sometimes, Victoria had the terrible thought that she was starting to look bedraggled.

  But her luck changed that winter. She was flying away from an unusually grimy traveling fair when she looked down and spotted Circus Mirandus. Victoria could almost feel the magic radiating through the air, and she knew that this was it, the place that was meant for her. She flew right up to the manager’s tent and introduced herself as the Amazing Amazonian Bird Woman. She asked about a job.

  Requests like Victoria’s came along every century or three. People with strong magic were few and far between, and Circus Mirandus held a great appeal for such gifted individuals. Mirandus Head considered each and every one with extreme care, and usually his decisions were made easily enough. Victoria’s case posed an unusual difficulty, though.

  The manager and a few of his top performers watched her audition in the main tent with a growing feeling of unease. She was as graceful in the air as a swallow. She sang like one of the angels. But her personality—well, it left something to be desired.

  Circus Mirandus was in the business of nurturing magic in the world. The performers were inspirers of children. It was a calling that required a special sort of person, and if he was honest with himself, Mr. Head had to admit that Victoria didn’t really fit the description. She was volatile and inexperienced, and she was entirely convinced of her own importance.

  She was also fourteen years old. How could he leave her to fend for herself?

  She landed before him in a cloud of sawdust. Her hands were on her hips, and she was smiling brightly. “Well?” she said. “It’s a pretty fantastic show. I’m sure you agree. So do we have a deal?”

  He might have said no. He was about to say no. He couldn’t risk Circus Mirandus’s mission on someone as proud and untried as Victoria Starling.

  But one of the performers, one who had been watching from his own private patch of shadow, spoke up. “She’s just a girl.”

  The shadows fell away from the Man Who Bends Light as he approached the manager. “I can keep an eye on her,” he said.

  If anyone else had made the offer, Mirandus Head would have rejected it.

  The Man Who Bends Light was not anyone else.

  Just after eleven o’clock that night, Micah stood on the sidewalk in front of his house. He was wearing his grandfather’s bootlace for luck, and he had freed the quipu from its poster board and stuffed it into his coat pocket, also for luck. He was crossing his fingers and his toes while he waited for Jenny to arrive. It was the kind of night that seemed to require good fortune in the largest possible amount.

  The temperature had dropped since earlier in the day, and Micah breathed puffs of fog that only survived for an instant in the steady breeze. He kept one eye on the upstairs windows, in case Aunt Gertrudis woke up and decided to look outside, and the other eye on the empty street in front of him. The parked cars were dark and quiet. Most of the neighbors’ houses were too.

  He had managed to get his bicycle out of the garage that afternoon without his aunt noticing. It had been several months since he’d ridden it, and the tires were half flat. He didn’t know how far they would have to ride tonight. Following the wind sounded exciting and all, but he couldn’t help thinking that, as far as directions went, it was a little vague.

  Micah heard Jenny coming before he saw her. The Pooch Prowler rattled as it bounced down the sidewalk. She was wearing her bike helmet, jeans, hiking boots, and a dark jacket. Her hair was in one thick braid instead of two. Micah suspected this outfit was the Jenny version of battle armor.

  “Are you ready?” she asked when she reached him.

  There was a bit of a tremble in her voice, but Micah decided not to mention it as he climbed onto his own bike. He licked his index finger and held it up to the wind the way he’d seen people do in movies. “It’s blowing that way.”

  “This is so crazy,” Jenny muttered. “So, so crazy.”

  Only a couple of cars passed them as they headed downtown, and Micah was glad the streets were quiet tonight. The last thing they needed was a concerned adult stopping to ask them questions.

  They didn’t talk much while they rode. Micah wasn’t sure what Jenny was thinking about, but his own thoughts were a jumble of hope and worry. What if the wind stopped? What if it didn’t, but it led them on and on until morning? What if Aunt Gertrudis or Jenny’s parents realized they were missing?

  They paused twice to check the wind’s direction and readjust their course. As they set off the second time, Jenny cleared her throat. “Micah, if this circus is really here—”

  “It’s here.”

  “I was just going to say that if it is, I think I know where it will be.”

  Micah looked at her. Her expression was equal parts thoughtful and worried. “Where?” he asked.

  “There’s only one place big enough for a circus in this part of town,” she said. “Do you remember last week—”

  Micah caught the idea. “They flew those balloons,” he said. He should have thought of that himself. The weatherman had mentioned it just yesterday morning. “For the grand opening—”

  “Of the new recreation department complex,” Jenny finished. “If a whole circus is around here somewhere, that’s the only place for it to be.”

  Micah mulled over the thought as they pedaled past the lightless windows of houses and offices. He knew Circus Mirandus didn’t necessarily have to follow normal rules about space. His grandfather’s descriptions told him that much. But why wouldn’t they take advantage of a large open area whenever they could?

  “If it’s not at the new rec department,” said Jenny hesitantly, “I think maybe we should go back home.”

  “I can’t go back home. Not until I find the Lightbender.” He wouldn’t go back even if he had to ride until his bicycle’s wheels fell off.

  “Micah . . .” she trailed off as they reached a crosswalk. They waited for the WALK sign even though there wasn’t a car in sight. The Peal Recreation Fields were just ahead.

  Micah eyed th
e entrance, and his hopes dissolved. It looked spitefully boring. Scruffy privacy hedges separated it from the street, and a huge sign with block letters gave directions toward the parking lot. When they turned into the main drive, the ball fields stretched out before them like a quilt.

  This doesn’t look right, Micah thought. This doesn’t look like anyplace special. It even smelled unmagical, like grass and paint and fresh asphalt. He peered ahead, aching to spot anything out of the ordinary, but the short grass was broken only by fences, light poles, and . . .

  “Holy smokes,” said Jenny.

  They coasted to a stop. Giant balloon creatures loomed eerily in the moonlight. Each one was a sport mascot that had flown high over the new complex last week to mark the grand opening. They had been visible from halfway across town. Now they were tethered to the ground with ropes and stakes in a field that was probably going to be a baseball diamond when the recreation department got rid of the King Kong–sized inflatable gorilla in the outfield. There were a wasp and a bear and a man who Micah thought might be a soldier of some kind, but the gorilla was the biggest. Four thick ropes anchored him to the ground.

  “I guess they’re keeping them around for publicity,” Jenny said. “Or maybe they want to fly them in the May Day parade.”

  Micah gazed up at the balloons. The quiet of the empty fields pressed against his ears until, as though it had been waiting for the perfect moment, a sound wove its way into his awareness. He shut his eyes and concentrated. It was faint and distant at first, but it seemed to grow stronger the longer he listened.

  It was music. It was pipes and drums.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked Jenny.

  She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “It’s the music! The music Grandpa Ephraim heard.” Micah could feel it now, pulling him toward it. “You were right, Jenny! They are here.”

  Jenny frowned down at the pavement, and Micah knew she was listening with all her might. “Well . . .” she said. “Not really. Where do you hear it?”

  They parked the bicycles by the concessions stand, and Micah led the way.

  Micah had thought seeing the circus for the first time would be astonishing somehow, but it was the most natural thing in the world when it happened. Between one step and the next, he found himself face-to-face with the place Grandpa Ephraim had described to him so many times. Circus Mirandus had made a spot for itself between two baseball fields, and it seemed right to Micah that it should be there. The tents, the fluttering pennants, the meadow—the circus looked like it had been waiting for him all along.

  The wind pushed him forward. The music pulled him forward. He had thought he would have a hard time keeping his promise to Grandpa Ephraim. How was he supposed to enjoy himself when he was on a mission? Now, though, he was full to the brim with the sight of it.

  “It’s beautiful,” he breathed. “Isn’t it perfect?”

  “What are you talking about?” Jenny said. She was giving him a concerned look. “What’s perfect?”

  “The circus of course!”

  She looked right at the soaring tents. She blinked. “Are you . . . are you feeling all right?”

  “You’re joking,” said Micah. He pointed toward the circus. “Aren’t you? Circus Mirandus is here. It’s right here just like you said it would be!”

  At first, she didn’t seem to believe him. She gripped her braid hard, and she stared at where he was pointing until her eyes started to water. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she said. “This doesn’t make sense. You wouldn’t lie to me, though, Micah, would you?”

  Micah’s chest tightened at her frantic tone. “No! No, I promise, Jenny.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. “Just a little closer, and I’m sure you’ll see. We’re just not close enough.”

  But they were more than close enough for Micah to see it.

  “Okay.” Jenny’s voice turned serious so quickly that he checked to make sure he was leading the right person. “There must be a logical explanation for this.”

  He could practically see her brain churning.

  “Cameras!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’ve heard of this. They can make things appear invisible using lots of tiny cameras and screens to reflect a different image.”

  “Really?” Micah asked. “Maybe that’s it.”

  He kept tugging her forward. If he pulled her all the way into Circus Mirandus, the magic would have to show itself to her. Wouldn’t it? Oh, please let her see it, he thought. It’s not fair if she can’t see it.

  “I must just keep catching it from the wrong angles,” said Jenny. They had reached the ticket taker’s line. “I’ll see it soon.”

  Understanding struck Micah like a punch to the stomach.

  Jenny couldn’t see Circus Mirandus because she wasn’t looking for Circus Mirandus. She never had been. He stopped walking and turned to her.

  “It’s not cameras, Jenny,” he said.

  “What else could it be?”

  He took a deep breath. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do!”

  He looked her in the eyes. “It’s magic, Jenny. It’s magic. That’s why you can’t see it. You have to believe me.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Micah, I can’t—”

  “Please?” he squeezed her arm even tighter. “Please try to believe.”

  “But it’s impossible!” she cried. “It’s ridiculous!”

  “Can’t you even pretend? Didn’t you ever pretend that magic was real?”

  Jenny’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

  “Just pretend for a second,” he urged. “Just say, ‘It’s a magic circus.’ Just once.” Maybe she didn’t have to believe all the way. Maybe believing a tiny bit would be enough.

  “It’s a magic circus?” Jenny said.

  “Like you mean it!”

  She scowled at him. “It’s a magic circus.”

  For several long heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Jenny’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “How . . .?”

  With a sigh of relief, Micah pulled her into line. He spied the ticket taker just ahead. It was Geoffrey, who had been there since 500 B.C. He looked just like Grandpa Ephraim had described him, right down to the golden monocle. Micah whispered this to Jenny while they waited.

  “It’s probably a family-run operation. He’ll be the son or nephew of the original one, I imagine.”

  Micah shook his head and groaned. When he’d said she only had to pretend magic was real for a second, he hadn’t really meant it. Grandpa Ephraim had warned him, but he hadn’t thought it would be like this. How could she not understand?

  “Which is excellent news for you,” she said. “It means that whoever the current Lightbender is will probably be related to the old one. He might even have heard of your grandfather from his own predecessor! Wouldn’t that be something?”

  She was so excited for him that she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. He refused to regret bringing her. She would see once they were inside. It would be impossible for her to ignore the truth forever.

  “Comin’ in?” said a voice right next to Micah’s ear. He jumped. Geoffrey was standing there, blinking at him through his monocle. “Got your ticket?”

  “Don’t you sell them?” Jenny asked. “Isn’t that your job?”

  That was when Micah realized that they might have a problem.

  You couldn’t buy a ticket to Circus Mirandus. It wasn’t that kind of place. Micah understood this even if Jenny didn’t. She was already arguing with Geoffrey about the definition of the words “legal tender for all debts.” Apparently, they were stamped on the five-dollar bill in her hand.

  The wind ruffled Micah’s hair, and he had an idea. He pulled the quipu out of his pocket and gave it a few shakes so that it untangled itself. He held it ou
t for Geoffrey.

  The ticket taker took it and stared at it through his monocle for a long moment. “This isn’t a ticket, Micah Tuttle.”

  Micah’s heart stopped. He didn’t have anything else that might be a ticket.

  “This is an invitation,” said Geoffrey.

  “How did you know his name?” Jenny said slowly.

  “How long is the invitation for?” Micah asked, which seemed like a much more important question.

  Geoffrey switched his monocle to the other eye and gave him a searching look. “Indefinitely.”

  Jenny looked impressed. “You mean it’s good forever?”

  “Oho,” said Geoffrey. “Now look who doesn’t know her definitions.”

  She drew her shoulders back and opened her mouth, but Geoffrey cut her off. “I mean it’s good for as long as it’s good,” he said. “And then it’s not.”

  Micah still wasn’t sure what “indefinitely” meant based on their conversation, but he understood that he was being allowed into the circus. He took Jenny’s hand and pulled her toward the entrance.

  Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Invitation doesn’t have her name on it.”

  He held the quipu up as if to prove it, and Micah gripped Jenny’s hand tighter.

  “Her name’s right there,” he said, pointing at the yellow strand that spelled out Jenny’s name in their knot alphabet. He knew that wasn’t at all what the ticket taker had meant, but he also knew that he wasn’t about to leave his friend out here by herself.

  “Hmm,” said Geoffrey. He peered at the quipu. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

  He stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Welcome, Micah Tuttle and friend, to Circus Mirandus.”

  And finally, at long last, Micah stepped into his grandfather’s story.

  Micah could see the golden flag at the top of the Lightbender’s tent shivering in the breeze, but it might as well have been miles away. Circus Mirandus wasn’t the kind of place you could navigate quickly. Magic was everywhere. The air smelled of grass and smoke and chocolate cake. Lights twinkled overhead like extra stars, and children crowded around groups of performers in exotic costumes. The music Micah had heard was still playing, the drums throbbing in time to Circus Mirandus’s pulse. He had to struggle not to lose himself in the wonder of it all.